


our love is coming down again

by tosca1390



Category: Psy-Changeling - Nalini Singh
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There are moments when she feels as if she is crawling out of her skin, out of her mind, out of the minefield that is her whole self.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	our love is coming down again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magisterequitum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/gifts).



*

 

There are moments when all Sienna wants is solitude. 

The mating bond means she is never alone; the SnowDancer web means everyone she loves and cares for is always there, always a part of her. It is a comfort always, to know she can reach out and have a grounding in pack, in family. But there are moments when she feels as if she is crawling out of her skin, out of her mind, out of the minefield that is her whole self. 

They would understand, she thinks. Everyone – Hawke especially – would understand. She is singular in her ability, singular in her upbringing, singular in her position within the Pack. But solitude is sometimes misunderstood, especially with Hawke; what she sees as self-preservation, he sees as withdrawal. His displeasure is always felt, even if she rarely hears it. Usually she can draw it away with kisses, with touch and a smile and a willing ear; but she keeps it, a reminder of all there is still to overcome. 

Always, she moves forward. 

 

*

 

Days like this, she finds an empty training room and signs it out for the evening. Hawke is on a patrol tonight, and she is alone in their quarters. The solitude there is of a different kind; it reminds her somehow of how lonely it all can be, this existence of hers so far. Though she takes great pleasure in their shared quarters, in the decorating she has a hand in and the feel of a place fully theirs, it is not the strength and quiet she needs tonight. 

The training mat is resilient under her bare feet. Sienna takes her training staff off the mat and shuts her eyes, stretching her arms out in front of her. The staff settles in her upturned palms, horizontal in the air. Its weight is nothing to her. 

Sweat lay slick under her braided hair on the nape of her neck, at the bend of her elbow. She feels her heartbeat even and steady in her chest, as she inhales and begins to move. She keeps her eyes closed, the feel of the mat and the length and breadth of the room known to her muscle now. A whirr of air near her ear, a pivot of her heel; she parrots her greatest teachers in her motions, all clean breaths and clear thoughts. 

She is a killer even as she practices control. She is a murderer even as she marks and regulates the X-fire within her. She is ruthless even as she plays with the pups in the nursery, as she sits with the maternals in their sewing circle. She is a monster – 

Sienna stops, opens her eyes. The bond, clean and gold in her mind’s eye, thrums with disapproval. He is worried. She is distracting him. 

Distractions mean death. 

_Slow_ , she thinks. _Slow_. He is on patrol, in the line of fire. Somewhere in the tall grasses, Ming waits for her. He would have no qualms in taking her mate to get to her. He took everything else from her, after all. 

_Fine_ , she thinks, sending it to Hawke, full of lightness. _I’m fine_. 

And then, she holds out her staff and begins again. 

 

*

 

Hours pass. She stretches, takes a break for water and to redo the braid down her back. She sets aside the staff and sets up a training dummy for hand-to-hand. The tape around her knuckles is still a strange sensation, tacky and stiff. 

_Slow_ , she thinks as she jabs and kicks, ducks and rolls. She is measured and controlled, an iron-like grip on her emotions and impulses. For all Silence’s imperfections and horrors, it taught her control. For that, she is grateful. It helps her when Hawke is all growls and sharp edges, after a meeting gone bad or reception of disagreeable intelligence. When she is so desperate to keep him safe and whole, it allows her a moment to step back, to recognize the line between care and cling. It is not a trip wire, a sign of inhumanity; her control is a sign of value. 

To save the den, she will be as controlled as she needs to be. 

He is quiet through the bond. She would worry, but patrol requires focus; she understands that. Breathing hard, she kicks and punches and channels her Tk into her tired muscles. Here, she is centered. Here, she is precise. Emotion is a constant, but here it is merely a tool. Judd told her once that what he feels for Brenna, for the Pack, for his family, it makes him stronger, a better fighter. One day, she wants to be there, at that place. 

“It’s midnight.”

Pausing, Sienna drops her fists and glances over her shoulder. 

“You’re supposed to be on patrol.”

Leaning against the doorframe of the training room, Hawke shrugs. “Had Riley relieve me.”

“What for?” she asks curiously. 

He tucks his hands into his jeans pockets. “Got bored.”

“Hawke.”

“I missed you,” he says with a shit-eating grin. 

Shaking her head, she looks away and down at her sweaty hands. “That’s hardly an appropriate reason.”

“I wasn’t on the rotation tonight in the first place,” he says after a moment, voice low. 

She takes the hint of the lie, wetting her lips. “I see,” she says, sitting on the edge of the mat. 

Hawke pushes off the doorframe and comes to sit next to her, his thigh brushing hers as he stretches his long legs out in front of him. “Indigo told me you’ve been spending a lot of time in here alone.”

“I didn’t realize individual training wasn’t allowed for the alpha’s mate,” she says flatly. 

“C’mon, baby. She didn’t mean to rat you out. She’s worried. Fuck, so I am.”

“You don’t need to be,” she says, staring at him. “I’m fine.”

He takes one of her taped hands in his, touching the reddening skin with gentle fingers. “So you keep broadcasting to me through the bond.”

Sighing, Sienna stares at the opposite wall. She doesn’t take her hand away from him, though. 

“You’ve got to talk to me,” he says after a still, silent moment. “Isn’t that what we agreed on?”

She plays with the hem of her sweat-damp tank top, her braid draped over her shoulder and breast. “I promise you, there isn’t anything to say. Sometimes – sometimes I need to be alone. That’s all.”

He links their fingers, leaning closer to nuzzle the line of her jaw. Shivers run down her spine as she turns into the touch. Will she ever have enough of him? 

“Why alone?” he murmurs, voice like gravel against her skin. His cheek is rough with stubble. 

“It focuses me,” she says, turning her face to his. “I think about the day, what I need to do, where I need to channel my energies. It helps me remain centered.”

“And you couldn’t just tell me this because?”

“Because I didn’t want you to get all alpha-wolf and panic about it,” she says bluntly.

Ice-blue eyes flash at her. “Sienna – “

“I’m not creating distance,” she interjects, leaning into kiss his cheek. “I’m not pulling away. I keep you here, always,” she says, pulling their clasped hands to rest above her heart. She would care more about the sweat and smell of her, the messy array of her hair as it comes loose from her braid, if this man hadn’t seen her bloodied and near-death. He sees her always. 

Hawke stares at her, his mouth turned down at the corners. She tilts her head, smiling slightly. “I will never push you away. But I – I am a creature built for solitude, Hawke. Pack makes me strong, and I love them all to my last breath, just as I love you. But I need to be able to take time for myself. Do you understand?”

He breathes out shortly, brow furrowed. “I don’t fucking know. All I know is the last time you were acting like this, you went to DarkRiver for months and I felt it like a knife to the gut.”

She swallows down a cry; oh, how she would have loved to know that back then! Perhaps it would have made it easier. But the past is not to be lingered upon. Forward, she thinks. They must move forward. 

“I’m not leaving,” she says quietly, kissing the thin line of his mouth. “I love you. I won’t leave.”

His hand tightens around hers as his palm cups her cheek. “Good,” he says, kissing her long and wet and deep. She shuts her eyes and breathes into him, a knot unraveling in her middle. Her control is rock-solid, but he augments her strength. She is always more when he is near. 

“Maybe – maybe I can train with you, one of these times,” he says against her lips, stroking his hand down her spine, edging her back flat onto the mat. 

She shifts and opens her eyes as he settles on top of her, her thighs spreading for his hips. “What for?”

He scowls a little. “Christ, baby, to train with you.”

“You would be the absolute worst to train with,” she says definitively, stroking her fingers through the long silver-gold fall of his hair. 

He laughs against her neck, his teeth grazing lightly at her pulse as he moves clever fingers to the hem of her top, pulling up. She arches her back as he pulls it away from her skin and over her head. “Why the hell do you say that?”

“Because you’d do this within five minutes,” she teases, her fingers digging into the fabric of his t-shirt and pulling. 

Shifting up to kneel between her legs, Hawke strips off his t-shirt and her leggings with stark efficiency. Only her sports bra and panties remain. His jeans are rough and warm against her bare skin. 

A wolfish grin curls his mouth. “You’re probably right. How the fuck can I help it?” he asks with a gleam in his eyes. She sees the wolf there in his gaze and is pleased with it, pleased at how fully he is there with her always. 

“I love you,” she says again, a pleasure to say it. 

His smile softens, his palms heavy and gentle on her thighs. “I love you,” he echoes, voice low and husky. He bows over her, his mouth skirting her lips, her throat, the dip of her collarbones. She shifts restlessly as his palm cups between her thighs, rubbing the heel of his hand against her clit. There is just the press of his teeth against her stomach, the lick of his tongue at her navel. Her body is shivers and a hot pink flush; every scrape of his jaw against her skin is another shot of arousal right to her bloodstream. Her fingers dig and tangle into his thick hair, little hoarse sounds escaping her throat. 

“I do like you this way,” he murmurs as he peels away her panties with a slip of his claw. “God, Sienna – “

She nudges at his ribs with her knee, panting. “Don’t tease, please – “

Two fingers tease and slide into her as he bites her hip, soothes the mark with his tongue. “You like it, though.”

“When I want it,” she protests, glaring at him. 

The sight of him smirking between her thighs nearly undoes her. He curves his fingers and she drops her head back and moans, hips arching to his touch. And then it’s his mouth, his torturous mouth over her clit, all soft wet sounds and the press of teeth there. His tongue is gentle and his fingers press in and she shudders and moans with it, wrapping her fingers into his hair and holding him there for her pleasure. He gives it to her, gives her the muffled sound of her name from his throat, the flicker and lick of his talented tongue. She breaks apart under him, loose-limbed and quivering from the slightest touch. 

Petting her, soothing her limbs, he gathers her in his arms and takes her slow and easy against the wall. She kisses him, the taste of her still heavy on his tongue, and rakes her nails down the taut line of his back as he thrusts. She asks for more, feels the arch of his spine under her palms. Her teeth sink into his bottom lip and he hisses, presses her to the wall. She feels as if the imprint of his body could be on hers, and she wants it, wants it always. 

They clean up after themselves thoroughly (wolves will always know, though, he teases), and she follows him back to their quarters, her hand settled into his. 

“You understand, right?” she asks as they walk through the den corridors. 

Hawke glances at her, cheeks still flushed. “I want you to do what you need to do. I trust you,” he says, open and naked. 

Chest tight, she pauses to kiss him, her heart in her hands and on her tongue. In the moment, she is centered, focused – on him. 

It is a new kind of balance. They’ll find it together. 

 

*


End file.
